


Sam the Sunflower

by flyy0ufools



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 20:01:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10394958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyy0ufools/pseuds/flyy0ufools
Summary: The brothers go undercover and Sam has to be in a play.





	

Sam was going to _kill_ Dean. He was used to going undercover, they did it all the time. Cops, FBI, pest control, antiquers, whatever it took to get the job done. But this…this was so much worse. And this was all Dean’s fault.

Sam stood backstage, looking at the outfit that the costume designer had just handed him. Dean strolled over, paintbrush in hand and a sick smile on his face.

“Heya Sammy, whatcha got there?” he asked innocently, but his eyes betrayed him.

“I’m going to kill you, Dean,” Sam answered, throwing his best bitchface at his brother. “Why do you get to be on set design and I have to be a fucking…” he trailed off, looking at his costume again.

“Cheer up, Sam. We ganked the ghost that was killing off all those actors. Now we just have to put on a spectacular play tonight and then we can leave.”

“Why can’t we leave before the play?” Sam pouted.

“Now now, Sam, you made a commitment. You can’t just disappear. They need your expert acting skills or this whole play is a bust!” Dean said, every word dripping with amusement and sarcasm.

“I swear to god, you better watch your back,” Sam hissed. Dean just grinned at him.

“You better go change, you know, curtain rises in 30 minutes,” Dean said, slapping Sam on the butt as he walked away. Sam gritted his teeth. He knew he was never going to live this one down.

He found a tiny dressing room, just a counter and mirror and chair, and stripped off his clothes, pulling on the hideous costume. After wriggling into it (and it took _a lot_ of wriggling) he looked himself over in the mirror.

The so-called costume consisted of a bright green body suit that left practically nothing to the imagination, and a ridiculous headpiece, with great big yellow sunflower leaves surrounding his face. He was in a podunk town taking part in some low-budget play where he had to stand around for an hour dressed like a fucking sunflower. He felt ridiculous. He _looked_ ridiculous.

He took a deep breath, readying himself for the onslaught of teasing he was sure to get from Dean, and opened the dressing room door. And of course Dean was standing right outside, just as Sam knew he’d be, already doubled over in laughter.

“Oh, Sam, that’s just…well that’s just _awesome_!” gasped Dean, dragging his phone out of his pocket and snapping a picture before Sam even realized what Dean was up to.

“Oh, screw you,” snapped Sam, and stalked off.

The play went as smooth as a crappy play with crappy actors could go, and when the final curtain fell, Sam hightailed it off the stage towards the tiny dressing room, anxious to get out of that costume as fast as possible. He snuck into the room, and closed the door, but a hand stopped it before he could get it all the way shut. Dean was there, pushing the door open so he could scoot inside with Sam. Dean shut the door and locked it with a click.

He was grinning again, but this grin was different. There was something in his eyes, and it wasn’t amusement. His eyes had turned dark green and he looked…hungry. Sam swallowed audibly.

“Dean, what’re you…” before he could even finish the question, Dean was on him, lips smashed together, all teeth and tongue and rough and _damn_ , it felt good. Dean was groping Sam’s arms, back, waist, ass. Sam gasped.

“Dean, what the fuck—“

“Shut up,” Dean said, and started pulling the bodysuit off of Sam. The thing came off a lot faster than it had taken Sam to put it on. Dean started stripping off his own clothes, and Sam reached up to take off the sunflower headpiece.

“No!” Dean growled, stopping Sam’s hands. There was a fire burning in Dean’s eyes, an evil smirk playing at his lips, and his voice was low and gruff. “Leave it on.”


End file.
